Pathetic Fallacy
by silentskulls
Summary: In which Ezio reflects on his family, has aching memories, and longs for a change.
1. A Walk in the Rain

It was raining again. It seemed to rain a lot lately, at least more so right now. Perhaps it was pathetic fallacy, or simply an irritating coincidence. Whatever it was, Ezio certainly disapproved. Rain made his clothing stick to his skin, pulling his limbs down. How much extra weight did it add, anyway? And why did the sky always insist on dropping rain when he was least prepared for it? Gloom. Too much gloom and angst and depressing assumptions ran through his head. He couldn't remember if he was thinking this way previously, but it was all too obvious now that it was raining. This weather simply brought gloomy feelings with it. As he trudged through mud that squished beneath his boots, he couldn't help the involuntary glance to his left, to Federico, checking to see if he was keeping up. His brother was not in a fit state of mind, and it would only be a matter of time until he disappeared on an outing. The normally warm eyes that characterized his brother's face had become empty and hollow; a disconcerting sight, to be sure, but one that was too be expected.

They slowed down and gave hopeful stares to the exit of the city, but nobody appeared. Not a single soul was traveling in or out. Ezio had to pull on Federico's shirt to get him to follow (which was not an all-too-easy task, considering that wetness that soaked into his garments), had to watch as he tried to see it one last time before it was out of his sight. He assured him it would not be long, but it was getting hard to let such thick lies fall.

It was desperate and futile to think he could predict when their father would return. A banker did not deliver a document only to be away for several weeks—it was not that dangerous of a job, which only made it harder to suck in the truth that he had not returned from his errand yet. Was he aware of the distress he was putting upon his family? Did he _care_?

"Ezio," came Federico's voice now, "I want to be home." His voice scratched in a way that hinted more towards influenza then an actual notion of sadness, but his raw, tight way of speaking made it clear that he was becoming worried. Ezio clasped his brother's shoulder, holding it tightly and hoping for his intended comfort to transfer through the touch. He did not look at him, and instead continued staring at the ground, following the path back to their family. Or, at least, the ones who were not lost.

"I know." He licked his lips and let his brow knit, but did not allow his emotions to take further control of his expression. "You are not the only one."


	2. A Day of Warmth

He felt awful. The very ability to speak seemed impossible – and it didn't matter how many times he glanced away, because even when he wasn't looking at it, the sight lingered and flashed in his subconscious. His body felt numb and weightless, as though he were practically floating, watching the scenery around him through a glass box. He was there, but not _really _there. He couldn't smell those flowers or feel that rain. Something was keeping him out of reality, and it affected his nerves, allowing his mind to drift back into dangerous grounds.

His fingers prickled and his eyes dried from lack of blinking, which was due to his lack of any _true_ focus. He couldn't stop looking at the sight in front of him, of the raised platform and the ropes. And even as he looked, he wasn't _really_ looking. He wasn't _really_ noting what he saw. His mind was elsewhere, a few hours (or was it minutes? Days?) back, straying completely from the present. And the less he tried to keep control of it – and at this moment, he was trying his hardest to keep as little control as possible – the further back it went. And for a moment, he was with his brother again, scaling buildings and rooftops and jumping large gaps with ease. And before he knew it, their traversing brought them to a wonderfully grassy hill, where he sat and rested.

Something about being here made the young man smile, fingers flexing, opening and closing, trying to grab at the nothingness around him. But soon it was no longer _nothing_ – it changed, perhaps even morphed, and the hand that was once groping at air had a fistful of fabric, and as he twisted his head in the grass, he found that he was looking at the smiling face of his brother, and his hand had grabbed his pant leg. The sibling had apparently chosen not to wear shoes today, that was obvious. As he stood above him, looking down, it was clear he had gone for comfort this day.

"Ezio, I thought _madré_ sent you to pick the orchards, not laze around." Ezio laughed gently, pushing himself into a comfortable sitting position, legs stretched out and hands pressed palm-down into the earth behind him. He looked up at his brother, who was lowering himself next to him and sitting close.

"And yet here you are. You are not going to help?" The older brother took a moment before slowly shaking his head and leaning it back, eyes staring at the country in front of them.

"She did not send _me_, did she?" Ezio looked at him and laid back, his head pressing into the warm grass, skin sticking awkwardly to the blades. He took a glance to the trees beside him before turning back, finding that Federico was now lying next to him. He had not even noticed his readjusting, but it was pleasant to see him so close at least. "I suppose we will have to pretend we are busy, then, for I wish to speak with you. I haven't seen you in a while. It has been too long, _fratello_." Ezio felt his brow furrow as he turned, his head resting in the crook of his now bent arm.

"I-I tried to save you," he stammered.

"Of course you did. I would be disappointed if you hadn't. But it was unavoidable, wasn't it?" The younger looked as though he was about to protest, but a warm hand on his shoulder silenced him at once. "You are a wonderful young man, Ezio. You have grown so much since I have seen you last. You can't go this long without seeing me again!" He smiled kindly, and it showed more in his eyes, and the look was familiar and warm and it _melted _him. Ezio smiled back and closed his eyes, relaxing his body further, practically sinking into the ground. "You are my little brother and I love you. Being away from you is hard." The assassin's eyes snapped opened, meeting his brother's.

"You say that as though you believe I have not felt it, as well. Do you think it is not depressing to travel by myself? To go places you and I explored as children?"

"You are not by yourself, Ezio."

"Leonardo is a good friend, _fratello_, but he is not—"

"No." A silence followed, in which the older brother waited for the younger to understand. As it drew out, his smile began to weaken. "I am still with you. This sunlight, this warmth, this breeze—"

"Federico, you are speaking nonsense," Ezio assured him, but the humor was evident. The older brother smiled, but there was an all-too-evident crease on his brow.

"I miss you, little brother. Do not stay away from me so long anymore, do you understand? Before I know it, you will never dream of me again. You will probably not even embrace me anymore. Will you even _remember_ me?"

Ezio shot awake and glanced quickly around the room, eyes manic. He was alone.

_Alone_.

He ran his hand through his hair before doubling over and releasing shuddering sobs, feeling more alone then he had ever felt before.


End file.
